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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27964757">small thoughtful steps</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener'>phantomlistener</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Prequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Assassination Attempt(s), Bodyguard Romance, Extra Treat, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:53:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27964757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When she'd asked the Jedi for security for a sensitive political trip, Padmé hadn't expected her bodyguard to be so…well, so <i>distracting</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Padmé Amidala/Depa Billaba</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>small thoughtful steps</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/gifts">skatzaa</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from <a href="https://peelsofpoetry.tumblr.com/post/134976832034/i-did-think-lets-go-about-this-slowly-by-mary">I Did Think, Let's Go About This Slowly</a>, by Mary Oliver</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Senator Padmé Amidala crossed her arms and stared forbiddingly at the Jedi Master in front of her. “I am visiting Ragnor and that is <em>final</em>.”</p><p class="western">“You’re going to have to do better than that, I’m afraid.” Depa Billaba met her angry gaze with a serenity that just made Padmé want to scream. “Your itinerary has been set to minimise the danger to you while you are here on Oberon. If you want to make changes then you will need to convince me that they are <em>justified</em>, and not just the whim of a senator who does not seem to understand the seriousness of a Miners’ Guild <em>bounty on her head</em>.”</p><p class="western">“You’re my <em>protection</em>, not my nursemaid,” Padmé said with asperity.</p><p class="western">“If you insist on behaving this rashly then I will be both.” There was steel beneath the musical softness of her voice, and Padmé was enough of a pragmatist to know when she was outmaneuvered. She knew too that the stop in Ragnor was worth the risk, that she could convince Master Billaba if the damned woman could just stop…<em>being</em>.</p><p class="western">When she’d asked for protection from the Jedi Council, she hadn’t expected her bodyguard to be so…well, so <em>distracting</em>. Sabé had almost laughed out loud when Master Billaba had been introduced, testament to both her handmaidens’ knowledge of her and her own predictability. How was she meant to impress the woman when she could barely string together a coherent sentence in her presence?</p><p class="western">She closed her eyes, pulled the cloak of senatorial indifference tight around her shoulders, and pretended she was talking to a delegation from one of the Trade Federation worlds. “I am here to further diplomatic relations with the Oberanians,” she stated, as clearly as if she were speaking from her Senate pod. “If we wish to trade our plasma for the minerals that Oberon can provide, we cannot rely on alliances formed solely with the ruling generals. The power held by the mining guilds and the Workers’ Union is too ingrained in their political system to ignore, regardless of the tensions between them and the generals.” She opened her eyes, let the thought of the Trade Federation drift away. “Master Billaba, I firmly believe that visiting the main mining city is a necessary risk.”</p><p class="western">“I agree,” Master Billaba said eventually, surprising her.</p><p class="western">“You…do?”</p><p class="western">There was a note of resignation in the Jedi’s voice that wasn’t visible on her face. “From the perspective of your protection, it’s a disaster waiting to happen. Politically, though? You’re entirely correct, it’s important for you to be seen somewhere that isn’t under the General’s thumb.”</p><p class="western">“Then why have we been arguing?!” It came out more forthright than she intended and she could hear Sabé’s laughter in her mind.</p><p class="western">But Master Billaba took her question at face value. “I need to be sure of your reasoning, Senator Amidala” she said simply. “It’s my job to weigh the importance of what you do against my ability to keep you safe.”</p><p class="western">Padmé stared at her in disbelief, controlled what could easily have been helpless laughter with pure force of will. “I’m sorry,” she managed, not really sure why she was suddenly so lightheaded, beyond the sheer thrill of having convinced this woman of her point of view. “I am perhaps less used to justifying my opinions than I should be.”</p><p class="western">Master Billaba allowed her a small smile, and it looked like she was amused too, but she was leaning over the map projected up from the table, busy studying it. “There are three routes through Ragnor that seem reasonably protected,” she informed her. “We can decide which to take tomorrow, just before setting out.”</p><p class="western">Padmé nodded her agreement. “That avoids our route being leaked in advance,” she concurred — and a different realisation hit at the same time. “That map isn’t detailed enough for you to identify a safe route,” she said accusingly. “When—”</p><p class="western">“I anticipated you might wish to visit,” Master Billaba said, looked over at her with something that was almost a smirk. “I’ve had a plan for days.”</p><p class="western">Padmé could feel herself blushing in response.</p><p class="western">Oh.</p><p class="western">Oh <em>dear</em>.</p><p class="western">She turned away, hoping the pink on her cheeks could be mistaken for annoyance. It really wasn’t fair. Of all the Jedi they could have sent her, she gets the attractive, competent, <em>sneaky</em> one.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">With hindsight, the smooth journey from Oberon’s capital out to the city of Ragnor had been an obvious trap.</p><p class="western">Padmé remembered touching down in a shuttle at the local port, just a short walk from the official residence of the city’s governor. She remembered the square, bounded on three sides by elegant pillared walkways and on the fourth by the impressive architecture of the local prefecture. She remembered the weight of her ceremonial clothing: she wasn't a queen any more, but first impressions were an advantage that she could ill afford to waste, and the negotiations she hoped to have with the Workers’ Union were delicate enough that using one of her doubles had never been part of the plan.</p><p class="western">She remembered the blaster fire, loud and distinctive, cutting down her guards with horrible accuracy first from one side then from the other, and Master Billaba covering their retreat with her lightsaber. And then the third shooter, impossible to guard from, and the Jedi Master pushing her bodily out of the path of fire before stumbling, falling to her knees and getting up again, grabbing Padmé’s hand and—</p><p class="western">The rest, from fleeing the square to arriving here, huddled in an empty mausoleum in Ragnor cemetery, was lost in a haze of adrenaline and pure instinct.</p><p class="western">“Senator Amidala.” Master Billaba rested a hand on her arm. “<em>Padmé</em>. Are you hurt?”</p><p class="western">She shook her head. “Not hurt,” she said, leaning against the musty stone wall to catch her breath. “But I guess we can assume the Guild hasn’t changed its mind about wanting me dead.”</p><p class="western">“Indeed.”</p><p class="western">She sighed out a shaky laugh and took stock of their location. They were surrounded by coffins, each in their own niche one above the other, and at the far end of the hall was the statue of a woman, tall and winged and with a dreadful expression of grief on her face. Padmé looked away, back at her companion. “Where are we, Master Billaba?”</p><p class="western">“The secret entrance to the Ragnor Catacombs.” There was the barest hint of satisfaction in her voice. “And call me Depa. This is no time to stand on ceremony.”</p><p class="western">“How did you even know this was here?”</p><p class="western">Depa gave her what was almost an exasperated look. “It’s my job to keep you safe,” she reminded her. “I have two or three emergency exits set up for each location on your itinerary. This one is only marked on the very oldest maps, and they’re held under lock and key in the Palace archives.”</p><p class="western">“You’re very resourceful,” Padmé said archly, and it choked a laugh from the Jedi Master that quickly turned into a wince. Her hand went to her side before she could help herself.</p><p class="western">“You’re <em>hurt</em>,” Padmé realised, and her heart was in her throat. “Depa-”</p><p class="western">“I’m <em>fine</em>,” she said reassuringly, but Padmé could see blood on her fingertips, seeping through the outer layer of her robes.</p><p class="western">“Let me take a look.” She said it in her best voice of command, the one left over from her years as Queen of Naboo that demanded absolute obedience, and Depa tilted her head, nodded reluctantly. Padmé knew it had worked not because of the imperial note of decree but because her companion had judged for herself the severity of her wounds and— well. It was a worrying thought, and she pushed it away, busied herself with helping Depa out of her top layer.</p><p class="western">Beneath the camouflage of her robe, Depa’s side was a raw mess. Her cream tunic was stained with blood where it hadn’t been incinerated away, turning a shockingly bright red in a slowly-expanding abstract pattern. Padmé sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s—”</p><p class="western">“Bad, but not fatal,” Depa said with a note of humour, twisting her neck to inspect the wound. “Nothing a bacta patch or two won’t fix.”</p><p class="western">“Don’t joke about it,” Padmé chided. “I need to know how bad it is. Jedi aren’t indestructible, you know.” For a moment she was back in the palace hangar watching Qui-Gon Jinn go unknowing to his death.</p><p class="western">“No,” Depa agreed softly. “We’re not.” She considered for a moment. “It’s bad, but I’ll be fine until we can make it to safety. I’m damping the pain with the Force. Anything more can wait.”</p><p class="western">“It can’t,” Padmé argued. “I don’t have much, but I do have water and a little liquid bacta.”</p><p class="western">Depa raised an eyebrow. “Where—”</p><p class="western">“Did you think these outfits were just for show?” She’d lost her ceremonial cloak and sash somewhere in the mad dash from the square to their hiding place, and it was an easy enough matter to remove her heavy tabard and shrug off the ornate outer layer of her costume. That left her in the rigid under-dress that was almost as good as light armour. She turned around, her back to the Jedi Master, and in any other situation she’d be blushing like an idiot but there was adrenaline coursing through her and she just didn't have time to be starry-eyed. “I’m, um, I’m going to need you to help me with this.”</p><p class="western">There was no surprise, no hesitation, just cool fingers against her warm skin working easily at the hidden catches and clasps that kept the garment in place. She didn't seem to have any trouble with the intricate fittings, and Padmé wondered with a sudden burst of amusement just how many senators this woman had undressed.</p><p class="western">“I can feel your smugness,” Depa said, her fingers brushing against the nape of Padmé’s neck, “and I don’t want to know. There, you should be able to get that off now.”</p><p class="western">She stepped out of it with a familiar feeling of relief, her spine straightening on instinct, rolled her neck from side to side to ease the ache of carrying such a heavy outfit all morning. She’d never been more glad of the ornate robes that allowed her to wear a practical tunic and trousers beneath them, and concealed soft leather boots with the floor-length skirts.</p><p class="western">“I’m impressed,” Depa said from behind her. “I really did think it was all for show.”</p><p class="western">“That's a big part of it. But there’s no reason it can’t be practical at the same time.” She reached into the inside of her under-dress, so rigid that it stood upright even without her inside it, and pulled out a small flask of water and a tube no longer than her finger. “Necessity has taught me the wisdom of being prepared,” she said wryly, holding up the tube. “Bacta. It’s not much, but it will help.”</p><p class="western">The relief on Depa’s face told Padmé all she needed to know.</p><p class="western">Settling onto her knees, she pulled gently at Depa’s tunic where it gaped open around the injury. She had always felt justified in keeping a knife on her at all times, <em>just-in-case</em>, felt vindicated now as she pulled it from her boot to cut through the side seam of the fabric, exposing the full mess of blood and burns that graced the side of Depa’s ribcage. Seen next to the smooth brown of the unmarked skin just above her trousers, it looked painful and shocking.</p><p class="western">She rested her fingers against Depa’s waist and looked up, shivered when she met her careful gaze. “This will hurt.” She was unable to keep the worry from her voice. “Ready?”</p><p class="western">She nodded, and Padmé picked up the water bottle, poured it in a steady stream over the wound to cleanse it as best she could. Depa hissed. Her head fell back against the wall and her hand grasped at Padmé’s shoulder, squeezed tight.</p><p class="western">Applying the bacta was no better. Despite its cool gloopy texture, Padmé still had to get it onto the wound, and that meant <em>touching</em> it, which made Depa squeeze her shoulder harder, eyes fluttering closed. She didn't make a sound, though, except for a sigh of relief when Padmé finished. “Thank you,” she managed, lifting her head from the wall to smile wanly down at her.</p><p class="western">She nodded, looked critically at her handiwork. “How attached are you to your cloak?”</p><p class="western">“Less attached than I am to my ribs,” Depa replied wryly, and okay, if the woman was still cracking jokes then things couldn't be all that bad.</p><p class="western">Padmé used her knife to tear strips from the cloak, bundled one up into a makeshift dressing pad and tied the rest together into something that resembled a bandage, and the bacta must already have started working because Depa didn't even flinch when she pressed the pad against her side and wrapped it tightly in place. “Obi Wan won’t let me hear the end of this,” she said darkly, and Padmé looked sharply up because she <em>knew</em> that name, remembered him as a serious young man barely more than a boy.</p><p class="western">“Does he have a monopoly on getting shot?” she asked, tying off the bandage and getting to her feet.</p><p class="western">“A penchant for losing cloaks, which I’m loath to admit I have a habit of teasing him about.”</p><p class="western">Padmé stifled a giggle at the thought of being on the receiving end of Depa’s dry humour. “I’m sure he’ll understand that it was a worthy sacrifice.”</p><p class="western">“That’s what <em>he</em> says,” Depa moaned, and Padmé couldn't help herself, laughed all the way through the unconvincing glare that Depa sent her way.</p><p class="western">They stashed their discarded clothes up behind one of the coffins, and once Padmé had grabbed her blaster and commlink from the hidden pockets, hid the bulky under-dress behind the statue of the grieving woman. There was a strange urgency to Depa's actions, as if she was aware of something that Padmé wasn't, and then she did <em>something</em> that Padmé didn't quite see and there was a narrow spiral staircase where before there was only blank stone. “There should be a speeder hidden at one of the exits,” she said, ushering Padmé down the stairs in front of her.</p><p class="western">Something shifted above them, a door closing in their wake, and then darkness surrounded them.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">They were only about fifteen minutes into the catacombs, torch-lit courtesy of Depa, when it became obvious their trail had been located. There were voices behind them – loud, male, determined – and the occasional round of blaster fire, most likely directed at the local rodents.</p><p class="western">“Great,” Padmé muttered, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “And here was I thinking it was going to be an easy escape.” They’d been making good time, but a bacta-covered wound was still a wound and they were moving slower than either of them would like. Slower than the men behind them, for sure.</p><p class="western">“Any escape you walk away from is an easy escape,” quipped Depa beside her. She seemed to have a sixth sense for where they were going, the route planned out during her little library excursion when it had become clear that Padmé would want to be visiting Ragnor. “We need to speed up.” Her face was tired in the flickering light. “<em>I</em> need to speed up,” she added softly. “Padmé—”</p><p class="western">She <em>knew</em> that tone, and she didn't like it. “I refuse to leave you,” she said firmly, and this time her patented tone of command actually seemed to get through. “We’ll just have to figure something out.”</p><p class="western">“I could fight them off,” Depa said, and it would have been a reasonable suggestion were it not for the way she was limping slightly, favouring her good side. “Catch you up later.”</p><p class="western">“And if there are more of them waiting for us at the exit?” She pressed her advantage, knowing she had a point. “I don’t doubt you’re more than capable of fending off the party behind us—” in fact, she <em>knew</em> she was more than capable, had seen her grace and lethality in action in the square earlier, and she was glad of the dim torchlight to hide the blush that memory brought to her cheeks— “but you’re already hurt, and I won’t make it alone.”</p><p class="western">Depa didn't agree, but she didn't argue either, and Padmé took that as a win. “What do you suggest?”</p><p class="western">“We need to hide,” Padmé said decisively. “You can say what you want about the Jedi sense of direction, but if we’re going to find that speeder at the end of this I need you concentrating on our route and not on whether we’re about to become bounty hunter trophies.”</p><p class="western">“I <em>am</em> able to focus on more than one thing at once,” Depa said tartly, but she waved off Padmé’s unformed retort with a sigh and relented. “Hiding is the wisest option, under the circumstances. One of the sarcophagi?”</p><p class="western">“<em>Sarcophagi</em>?”</p><p class="western">She didn't realise she’d said it out loud until Depa was looking right at her, one eyebrow raised and humour dancing in her eyes. “Unpleasant, perhaps, but our best hope.”</p><p class="western">“Right.” She sucked in a deep breath, released it. “One of the big ones, then. It doesn’t sound like they’re exactly bothering to stop and search.”</p><p class="western">Once they’d come to a decision it was easy enough to find a hiding place. The sarcophagus they chose was more than half Padmé’s height again and it loomed vertically in the darkness from its home in a carved-out hollow in the wall, set back slightly from the main passageway. With a visible flicker of exertion, Depa made an absent gesture with one hand and the door to the sarcophagus – which must have weighed a good half a ton in solid rock – opened silently, with just enough space for them both to slip inside.</p><p class="western">The first thing she noticed was how cramped it was. Padmé’s back was pressed up against the cold, unforgiving stone of the coffin wall, and Depa was pressed up against her. She shifted to avoid aggravating the wound in Depa’s side, sensed the flash of a grateful smile in the gloom. There wasn't an actual body in with them, thank the gods, but she deliberately didn't think about what might be in the coarse dust beneath her boots.</p><p class="western">She felt rather than saw the next gesture, a mirror of the first, and the lid of the tomb slid back into place with an air of finality. It was pitch black. “I—”</p><p class="western">Depa silenced her whisper with a gentle finger against her lips, obviously listening for something. It wasn't long before Padmé heard it too: gruff voices, coming towards them down the main passageway. At least three of them, all men. Their accents were unfamiliar – not Naboo, then, that was a minor relief – but not anything else she recognised. The clipped vowels and code-words sounded military.</p><p class="western">It felt like the stone was pressing in around her and she was shaking, knew it was the delayed shock of the initial attack catching up with her, the sharp tang of adrenalin wearing off now they had stopped running. Hiding had never been her forté: she was too impulsive, too impatient. Anger rose in her throat. The men out there could give them answers, Master Billaba could confront them – what use was a bodyguard if they wouldn't take risks?</p><p class="western">But Depa had swept in between her and a blaster aimed to kill, and got herself hurt in the process, and if that wasn't a risk then she didn't know what was.</p><p class="western">Her distress must have been leaking out somehow because suddenly she was pressed even closer to the Jedi Master than she had been before and there were comforting arms around her, insulating her from the stone that was leeching away her warmth.</p><p class="western">Relief outweighed her embarassment at being this obvious, this rattled by their situation: she wasn't claustrophobic, she <em>wasn't</em>, it was just the darkness and the dead air and the solid carved stone of the coffin closing in around her that was making her lightheaded, sending her heart rate through the roof. She could control it, she <span>could</span><em> – </em><span>she </span><em>had </em><span>to. But she</span> could feel her breathing getting shallower, faster, frighteningly loud in the utter silence.</p><p class="western">The voices were getting closer, urgent chatter.</p><p class="western">She had to stop this, or they would hear her.</p><p class="western">She dropped her head forwards against the Jedi Master’s collarbone, pretended that the feeling of confinement came only from the tight embrace of strong arms around her. One of Depa’s hands came up to brush her chin, tilted her head back up towards her, and Padmé could feel warm breath across her cheek, the slow steady breathing of a woman who had seen too many emergencies to consider this more than a minor inconvenience.</p><p class="western">Her heart skipped a beat, and this time it wasn't the panic.</p><p class="western">Depa leaned forwards, pressed their foreheads together, and whispered “<em>breathe</em>” in a voice that was barely more than the quiet of the tomb.</p><p class="western">Oh, Sabé would be laughing so <em>hard</em> at her right now.</p><p class="western">She almost snorted, repressed it just in time, and the thought dispelled some of the fog in her head, practicality filtering back in like a slow trickle of water in the desert. She concentrated on breathing in time with Depa, slow and deep, focused on the feeling of arms around her, of warmth and protection and—</p><p class="western">Heat curled deep in her stomach, shivered out all the way to her fingertips, but she'd take badly timed attraction over panic any day, focused on the buzz and the want and the pull of it between her thighs. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine—</p><p class="western">The men’s voices passed within metres of their hiding place, passed on beyond them into the passage ahead, but Padmé barely noticed. Depa was still holding her close, making no move yet to leave their hiding place, and she shouldn’t, she <em>knew</em> she shouldn’t, but proximity had made her ache and survival had made her bold. She surged up on her tiptoes and crashed their mouths together and Depa made a surprised noise against her lips but she was kissing her <em>back</em>, her strong arms around Padmé’s waist pulling her closer, and Padmé really could have died of happiness right there in that miserable tomb. The men’s voices had completely disappeared now and Padmé kissed her harder, tangled her fingers in those perfect braids and chased her tiny moans and gasps with lips and tongue until they were trembling against each other in the darkness. Depa drew a ragged breath, leaned into Padmé’s embrace, and gods, if she asked her to Padmé would get on her knees in the dust and the bones and put her mouth to even better use.</p><p class="western">But Depa wouldn't ask that of her, and besides she was hurt, and they were still in danger. She let her head fall onto Depa’s shoulder, ever mindful of her bandaged side. “I’m—”</p><p class="western">“If you’re thinking of apologising,” she interrupted, breathless and amused, “please don’t.” She dropped her arms from Padmé’s waist and she must have done the same hand-wave as before because the way out appeared as if by magic, and faint torchlight filled the interior of the sarcophagus.</p><p class="western">Padmé stumbled out into the catacomb and took a deep, shuddering breath. She was fine. She was out. She turned to Depa, reached up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from below her bottom lip before she could help herself. Let her palm settle against her cheek. “We should—”</p><p class="western">“Yes,” Depa said, leaned briefly into her hand before straightening. The torchlight played over her face, glinted on the jewels set into her forehead and nose. “Time to go.”</p><p class="western">Padmé turned to head on down the passage they’d been following before, almost tripped over a burial urn that was jutting out into the passage. She wrinkled her nose, aimed for flippancy. “Next time, I’m adding a torch to my top secret survival kit.”</p><p class="western">“Let’s get out of this mess before we start tempting fate with talk of <em>next time</em>, hmm?”</p><p class="western">Padmé laughed and took her arm, relieved beyond words at the teasing. “Please tell me you remember where we are?”</p><p class="western">Depa grinned at her. She looked confident despite the slight limp, the way she leaned almost unnoticeably on Padmé for support. “The Force provides,” she said with more than a hint of mischief, and started walking.</p><p class="western">*</p><p class="western">It was gone midnight and they’d been back in the capital city for less than twelve hours, and Padmé had been lingering in front of the door to Depa’s suite in the visitors’ wing for more of that time than she cared to admit. She hadn’t seen her since they got back, knew they had taken her straight to a doctor and then back to her rooms and Padmé hadn’t wanted to disturb her in case she was sleeping, but—</p><p class="western">“You’re hovering,” came Depa’s voice from inside, made her jump just a little bit. “Do you need an invitation?”</p><p class="western">On cue, the doors slid open in front of her – but Depa was on the other side of the room, sitting with her legs tucked under her on the long seat by the window. The table in front of her was laid with bread and fruit. Her hair was gathered in a loose braid over one shoulder and they must have given her new clothes, because she was wearing black trousers and a fitted brown tunic that would probably pass for Jedi if she had a robe over the top. In its absence, though, she looked...different. More dangerous, the sort of person who wouldn't be out of place on a smuggler's crew or an Outer Rim salvage vessel. Padmé swallowed, and summoned all her composure. “I thought the Force was a special power.” She stepped over the threshold, and the doors closed silently behind her again. “You know, deeply spiritual, only to be used for serious things?”</p><p class="western">“Well, it’s also very useful for opening doors,” came the amused response. “And sarcophagi, in case you’ve forgotten.”</p><p class="western">She really, <em>really</em> hadn’t forgotten. “You’re very flippant for a Jedi Master.”</p><p class="western">“So I’m told.”</p><p class="western">Padmé laughed, shook her head, and took a moment to really study her. Depa had navigated them out of the catacombs from her memory of a four-hundred-year-old map and straight to the speeder she had promised would be waiting, commed the capital city on a secure channel, and had a shuttle plus medic with them in less than an hour, all with a nasty blaster wound that, beneath her calm façade, had to have seriously hurt. Now, safely back in borrowed rooms, not a trace of that was visible on her face. “So…how are you?”</p><p class="western">“As good as new.” Her hand went to her side in what looked like an unconscious reaction. “Well. Almost.”</p><p class="western">“I’m glad to hear it.” She’d been truly worried, those treacle-slow minutes in the mausoleum when she had really thought that Depa might be seriously injured. Without her, the chances of making it out alive— “You know, I don’t think I ever properly thanked you.”</p><p class="western">“For doing my job?” There was that amusement in her eyes again, the knowing that got right under Padmé’s skin and hummed anticipation through her veins, and it wasn't like she could help her attraction. Couldn't hide it either, if the raised eyebrow was anything to go by.</p><p class="western">“For doing your job,” she agreed, with a smile she knew was just a little too bright. So much for composure. “For saving my life.”</p><p class="western">“It was a pleasure, Senator.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice. “Still think Ragnor was a good idea?”</p><p class="western">Padmé shrugged. “Much as I prefer <em>not</em> to be shot at? I think it was worth the risk.”</p><p class="western">“When I accepted this assignment, they didn’t tell me you’d be this much <em>trouble</em>.” Depa was openly laughing at her now, real warmth in her eyes rather than the guarded amusement she usually adopted. “Come, sit. Have dinner with me.”</p><p class="western">“I didn't realise a little blaster wound qualified you for room service?”</p><p class="western">“I’m here for the perks,” Depa informed her mock-seriously, patted the seat next to her. “There’s enough for two, Senator.”</p><p class="western">She stepped closer. “I thought we’d agreed first name terms?”</p><p class="western">“Only in life or death situations, surely.”</p><p class="western">“<em>Depa</em>.” Padmé couldn't hide her laughter, took the seat beside her and nudged her with one shoulder. “When I asked for protection,” she adds, “they didn’t tell me <em>you’d </em>be this much trouble.”</p><p class="western">Depa gave her a sidelong look, but Padmé was sure of her now, met it with undisguised affection and admiration and <em>want</em>, and a smile flickered across her lips in response. “Padmé—”</p><p class="western">“Is that your way of telling me this is a life-or-death situation?”</p><p class="western">Depa shook her head, still smiling. “Padmé, I can’t afford an affair with a Senator.”</p><p class="western">“And I can’t afford an affair with a Jedi.” She reached for Depa’s hand, and it was calloused with lightsaber use where her own was soft. “So we’ll just have to be discreet.”</p><p class="western">Depa huffed out a breath that was amused and frustrated and all at once, but she didn't pull her hand from Padmé’s grasp. “Do you <em>always</em> get your own way?”</p><p class="western">“No.” She was serious all of a sudden, the memory of too many lost battles in the Senate washing over her in a wave of regret. “But I hope I will here.” She stroked two fingers along Depa’s jaw, heat rising in her cheeks at the indrawn breath that elicited. “What do you think?”</p><p class="western">“I was impressed today,” she said, apropos of nothing. “I think—”</p><p class="western">And then she was kissing her, and Padmé had her answer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>With sincere apologies to canon, and its associated timeline(s), which I have merrily assassinated and thrown into the river.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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